Simon, Just Simon
by newtothis195
Summary: I know this may seem depressing, but I wanted to imagine a story where Bram and Simon don't stay together. This book has created an almost obsession for me and I love all the stories everyone is writing around it! Hope you like!
1. Chapter 1

_Tap. Tap._

I jolted back to reality to see a middle aged, redhead knocking on my window.

"Are you OK, sweetie?" she said with the thickest southern accent I've ever heard.

If she only knew how loaded that question was.

"Umm. Yeah." I stammered.

"We've been watching you for 10 minutes now. Wanted to make sure you didn't have a stroke or sumthin'."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Honey, maybe you should take an Uber home."

"No, thanks. I'm fine. Really."

She slowly walked away as if she didn't really believe me. Honestly, I don't believe me. It's only been a week since Bram left. It still doesn't seem real.

I begrudgingly get out of the car to make the trek across the Publix parking lot. It's crazy the things you have to relearn when you become single. For a moment I instinctively wait for him to slowly walk around the car. I didn't bring the reusable shopping bags either. He always remembered. He's thoughtful like that. He makes lists so I don't aimlessly get the craziest shit I allow my empty stomach to buy with our money. Well, my money now. The recipes for the week would be so intertwined. Bram would find a way to use every ingredient we purchased for the week, and it never got old!

Stop. I feel my cheeks getting warm and swallow the lump in my throat. Damn my father and the hereditary ease of crying he sent my way.

I walk in circles throughout the store and muster enough items to fill one of those tiny carts. You know, the ones that seem like they're for small children, but they're tall enough for adults. The ones that scream: "I'm single and I'm grocery shopping on a Friday night!"

I get to the register and choose the self checkout. I don't feel like talking to anyone. After wrestling with the weight sensor yelling at me to place items in the bagging area, I pull out my card to pay. I run my finger over the raised letters at the bottom edge: Simon Spier-Greenfeld. Boy was his father upset when we decided to put Spier first. I knew all along he wasn't ok with us. I don't think he's homophobic by any means, but for some people it's hard accepting certain realities about your own child. It was hard to believe that his handsome, athletic son would "be the girl" and change his last name.

"Darlin', you're doing it again."

Once again the southern redhead brings me back to reality tonight.

"Are you drunk or high? I'd have to tell my manager."

Her name is Tammy. Of course it is. Her weathered name tag was surrounded by faded stickers that had surely taken a ride in a washing machine many times.

"No." I answer her. "Just a really shitty week."

"I was wondering what all the Oreos was about."

She leans in and aggressively punches her fingers onto the screen for what feels like hours.

"Thanks for using your coupons, Sweetie. Have blessed day." She winks and walks away.

I see my new total and think about how generous this strange woman is to me. The words "employee discount" appear under every line. In the south, it's hard to know who may accept me for who I truly am. It's made me very cynical. I pay for my groceries and head back to the car thinking about the terrible things that happened after Martin posted to that damn Tumblr. It's been so long since high school, but the smallest things still feel so fresh. I wonder what those guys would think now. How would they feel knowing what they said and did is now contributing to the worst week of my life?

Do you ever drive all the way home and realize you don't remember how you got there?

My phone starts ringing and I hit ignore as soon as I see the words "Mom Cell" appear on my dash. I should really answer her eventually, but she'll just be too analytical for what I'm ready for right now. I pull into the driveway and load the groceries inside. The cabinets were almost empty and most of the items in the fridge are well past their expiration date. I should've noticed something when he stopped cooking.

Everything was perfect for so long. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. We got married, bought a house, finally took our big romantic trip to Europe, and even discussed adoption. Then, slowly he changed. Hell, maybe I changed too. He worked later and longer hours. He didn't have the same Bram energy. Of course, he's never been overly enthusiastic, but he was different with me than anyone else. It felt like he was hiding something from me. Not a cute, secretive plan, but something that he knew wouldn't make me happy. We stopped having sex. I think that hurt the most. We kept waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear-off, but we couldn't keep our hands off one another. It was more than lust. It was intimacy. It was love.

 _Buzz. "Leah Cell"_

She hasn't called since he left. I feel so incredibly angry for a moment, but then the desire to speak to someone completely pushes that away.

"Hey!" I sound overly cheery. You're forcing it, Simon.

"Si. I am so glad you answered." I hate that I can hear the pity in her voice. She continues, "How are you doing?"

"How do you think I'm doing, Leah? I feel pretty fucking awful."

She's silent.

I'm silent. I'm making her talk next.

"Si, I'm so sorry I haven't called. I just. I don't know what to say to make you feel better."

I feel myself loosening. She's really trying.

"Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?" She pleads.

"I'm think I'm good. I finally went to the grocery store." I force a chuckle. She doesn't find it amusing. I continue, "Maybe, you can come over tomorrow? I'd really like to see you."

"Of course! Let me know when you're on your way home and I'll be there."

She doesn't know I haven't been going to work. They stopped calling. I don't even know if I have a job anymore.

"That sounds amazing. I'll let you know."

"Simon, I love you and I'm here at any hour if you need me."

"Thanks, Leah. Love you too."

I hang up and walk around the house. I've been sleeping in the office since he's been gone. I can't stand the fact that I can smell him on the couch and bed. I feel like such a fool. We lived in this house, OUR HOUSE, and he was hiding something from me. God, I'm so stupid. Why didn't I notice it. Was I just blinded by the perfection of us?

 _Buzz. "Mom Cell"_

Ignore.

 _Knock. Knock_

Jesus Christ. Did my mother actually just drive across town? I weave my way through the house and gather some of the food wrappers and empty bottles from the living room. I really don't need her judgement right now. I swing open the door mentally preparing to see my mother, and there's nothing. I look left. Nothing. Right. Nothing. Then I notice a white envelope perfectly placed on our welcome mat. My welcome mat. Written across the top is one word: "Jaques".

Are you fucking kidding me? Was he here!? I recognized the handwriting immediately, so I knew it had to be his. It's incredible how a simple envelope can make me feel so many things. Hopeful. Angry. Sad. Devastated. I have never wanted to do and not to do something so strongly. This could change everything. It could make everything so much worse, or so much better.

"Son, are you OK?"

Part of me expects to see Tammy in front of me. My new fairy godmother I suppose, but it's Mr. Wells from next door.

"You've been standing there kind of out of it for a bit." He says.

"Yeah. Apparently that's something I do now."

"Well, you let me know if you need anything. I heard about what happened, and I truly am sorry." He looks at my car sitting next to an empty carport spot.

"Thank you, Mr. Wells. That means a lot."

The day we moved in Mr. and Mrs. Wells were determined to be the first neighbors to introduce themselves. Janet told us almost immediately they have a gay son who lives in Cincinnati with his partner. It was awkward, but sweet. She wanted us to know that she accepted us.

I come back inside and grab a beer from the fridge. As I make my way back to the office, I struggle deciding if I'll open the letter tonight, wait until morning, or put it immediately into the shredder. Reluctantly, I grab the letter opener and cleanly slice through the envelope. I take a deep breath and I'm already crying as I look at his handwriting. What good could he think this would possibly do?

Jaques,

I'm glad you decided to open this. I'm sure you spent a considerable amount of time coming to the decision of reading these words. Of course, for all I know this letter is making its way through the shredder.

I want to first tell you how I am so in love with you Simon Spier-Greenfeld. Nothing will ever change that. The last few weeks have been difficult. I hate hiding things from you. I made a promise on our wedding day that I would never do that. I'm so incredibly sorry, Si. There's nothing I could possibly do now to make things better, but I have to try.

I want you to know this isn't the last letter you'll receive from me. I hope you'll find the strength to continue reading them. I'm going to ask a small favor from you in each letter. Something that I know will make things better for you. Slowly. Simon, please sleep in the bed again. It's going to be hard, but you hate that air mattress I know you're using right now in the office...

Simon, please give me a chance and do what I ask. I know you. I know that you're hurting so bad right now. I know that you've hurt more this week than you ever thought possible. I love you so much, and I hate that I'm the cause of this pain you're having.

I will never be able to fully express my love for you, Simon. What we have is perfect. You're perfect. Please know that you are the only one for me. Now and always.

Yours,

Blue

PS. Answer your mother… ;)

I read it again. And again. I trace my fingers over the familiar script. Eventually, I stand and walk to the bedroom. I haven't touched our bed in over a week. I sit on his side. I look on his night stand to see the trivial items that were emptied from his pockets every night. Loose change, chapstick, gum, and a few scattered business cards. I begin crying as I slowly lower my face onto his pillow. It still smells like him. I take it in. I inhale until my lungs can't possibly take more. I'm outwardly sobbing at this point. I haven't allowed myself to do that yet. Damn him. He knew the bed would get me. This was our place where troubles melted, arguments were resolved, and no one could hold us back. This will be the first night I'm unhappy in this bed. I consciously decide to fall asleep on this side. His side. Maybe, just for a moment, I'll wake in the morning and forget he's dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - I'm interested to hear thoughts and suggestions! I'm fixing the formatting - I guess it got screwed up somehow! When I bring things over from Word it sometimes loses the spacing and font changes, so let me know if it's confusing!

Knock. Knock.

Is it a letter!? I run to the door from the bedroom. I haven't gotten out of bed yet, so my legs are quickly trying to function as I clumsily make it through the house. I jam my foot into the coffee table but ignore the pain. I fling open the door to see Leah standing there with a bag of Chinese food.  
"Hey, Simon." She says suspiciously.

Damn. I forgot we were hanging out tonight. I look at the clock on the wall in the living room and see it's already 7:42 PM. Holy shit.  
"Hey!" I stammer.  
"Hey. You didn't call so I just assumed you'd be home by now?"  
"Yeah. Sorry. I just got home a few minutes ago." This is obviously a lie. I'm in boxers and a t-shirt, it's clear I haven't showered, and even I can smell my breath.  
"Oh. OK." She says as she pushes through me to enter the living room. "So, I learned something today."  
"Yeah? What's that?" I say as I hastily try to restore order to the kitchen and living room.  
"You still have me as your emergency contact at work."

My cheeks immediately flash red. I hate when Leah catches me in a lie. Of course all friends get upset when they catch you lying, but Leah takes it personal. It's like it hurts her soul. I can tell she's upset, but she's giving me a pass for this one.

"They said they haven't seen you in three weeks. They've been calling too?"  
"Umm, yeah. I know. I wanted to call them today, but I just couldn't. I used my vacation and sick time when he really got sick, so when he…"

I couldn't say anything else. I'm so sick of thinking and talking about it. Leah seems to understand and continues the conversation.

"Well. They understand, Simon. Really. They just ask that maybe you at least give them a call on Monday? Your boss wants you to take as much time as you need, he just needs to know if you plan on coming back."  
"Yeah. That's fair. I'll call them."  
"Great. Well. Enough of that. Let's eat this Americanized, shitty excuse for Chinese food and watch TV?"  
"Please and thank you."

It was great spending time with Leah. We haven't done this in a while. Not since she had the baby. She's an amazing mom, and Garrett is a great father too. They got pregnant soon after our engagement and went to the courthouse for a marriage license. Leah has never been the type of girl who wanted a wedding. /spanWatching TV with her was exactly what I needed. For a moment I felt normal. I forgot for just a second how terrible life was. We made it through the end of SNL and I realized I was happy. Even sort of smiling. Then, I felt guilty. I remembered why I spent almost 20 hours in bed and began replaying everything in my mind. I hate that. I deserve happiness. I deserve to have moments of normalcy.

Leah stands and gathers her things to leave and turns to me.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?"  
"Umm, yeah. As ready as I can be I suppose."  
"Good. You know I can stay here tonight if you need me."  
"No, Leah, you can go. I'm fine. Really. Thank you though."  
"Ok. Well, I'm stopping by tomorrow to pick you up. Garrett and I are driving you."  
"No. I can drive. Really."  
"Simon. This isn't an offer. You can't accept or deny. It's happening." I smile. I want her to take me so bad. I want her to be the first person I see and the last person to tell me some bullshit line about moving on and how things will get easier. "Thanks, Leah. That means more than you'll ever know."

She smiles and walks to the door. I can tell she wants to say something else, but she's going over every line in her head. I love that about her. She doesn't like cliche moments, and she knows I've heard every blanket statement over the past week. Eventually it clicks and just as she reaches the door she turns to me.

"Simon, when we buried my father I couldn't look at him. Yeah, it was open casket, but I just couldn't. I hate that I didn't. I don't know what I expected to see, but now I'll never know. I missed the last chance to see him as he was. In some sick way I wish I would've seen him look peaceful. Like he was sleeping. Si, I know it'll be hard, but take it in tomorrow. Don't shut down, or try to act too strong. No one is expecting anything from you."  
"Just promise me one thing?"  
"Anything."  
"You'll try to keep my mother at bay?"  
She lightly laughs. "Simon, give her a break. She is a therapist you know?"  
"Yeah, yeah. Me too!"  
"Well, sometimes even therapists need a therapist."

I hug her and watch as she makes her way to the car. Why did I tell her I was fine? I want to wave my arms and scream for her to return so I don't have to spend another night alone in this house. The Spier-Greenfeld residence. I used to love it. The unique shapes, amazingly landscaped front yard, lattice work crawling to the second story. Now I get a terrible taste in my mouth when I have to come back to it. I turn to walk back inside and notice the mail pouring out of the box. I'm such an idiot! Why the fuck didn't I check the mailbox!?

I grab the mound of envelopes and sales flyers and throw them on the couch. I fall on my knees and frantically sort through the junk. Bram always complained about the unnecessary amount of paper wasted on snail-mail. That's why he refused to create real estate flyers for himself or any properties he listed. Then I saw it. A clean white envelope with THAT logo. That fucking logo. Creekwood Baptist Hospital. I've seen it on walls, bills, scrubs, signs, and clipboards for the past two months. In the middle of the envelope is that writing I know too well. I rip it open and begin reading.

Jaques,

I knew all along that I could possibly have to write this letter about the eve of my funeral. I have started it so many times and changed it completely every draft. The simple truth is: tomorrow is going to be a shitty day. I'm so sorry I can't be there for you. I hope you don't mind, but I asked Leah to take you...

I have everything planned, ordered, reserved, and taken care of. All you need to do is just be there. Be there for you, my family, and your family. I'm sure you're already stressing out and overthinking all the interactions you're going to have. Cliches or OK sometimes. Sometimes, there's just nothing else to say. I wish I knew some magic word or task to give you that would make you immediately feel better, but I don't. Because it doesn't exist. This is just one of those things that's going to be bad for a while. Then one day, it will feel slightly less shitty.

Hopefully, you've already experienced a few moments where you've been happy again. So, your task for this letter will be to not feel guilty after. I know you will, but DON'T! Simon, it's ok to feel normal again. You need to! I need you to. The thought of you not moving on is devastating. I need you to be the Simon who laughs so hard he snorts, gets so excited when he finds a good deal that he has to call his sister, and smiles when he dreams. You have made my life so incredibly fulfilling. Please, PLEASE don't stop fulfilling yours.

Wear the blue bow-tie with red polka-dots I love. It's my favorite!

Love, Jaques  
PS. I'm serious...answer your mother!

I suddenly realize how exhausted I am. I wipe the tears from my eyes and walk to the office. I pull down the old cigar box we found in Germany to place this letter with the first. It's hard to imagine really being happy without him. Every significant moment of happiness over the last eight years has been so intertwined with him. Who am I without Bram? Who is Jaques without his Blue? I lay on the bed and pull the covers over my head to hide myself from the world as I begin my nightly ritual. It's time to replay every moment we had together. Will it ever get to a point where I don't remember something? What he was wearing, how he smirked, what he smells like, or the sound of his voice? That's the only version of Bram that's still alive. The Bram inside my head.


	3. Chapter 3

It's 2:34 AM and I can't sleep. Tomorrow will be exhausting. Well, today I guess. Leah will be here at 10 AM to pick me up so we can arrive before the others. I asked Nick and Abby to come early. They deserve to come during family time too. I don't think I could possibly make it through today without them.

I drift off for a moment and wake at 3:49 AM.

4:17 AM.

5:13 AM.

7:11 AM.

Ok. Fine. I sit up in the bed as light begins to pour into the windows. What do you do on the morning of the funeral for the love of your life. I'm sure I should find a photo album somewhere, read his letters, or … I don't know. It all seemed too easy. Too cliche. I look around the room in which we shared so many memories. My eyes are drawn to blue and green Nike running shoes thrown carelessly into the closet. Bram's shoes. Leah always complained about how we wore the same size shirts, jackets, and shoes.

"It's just not fair!" she would shout.

"Yes, Leah. Us gays have it soooo easy…"

"OK, Simon. You can't always throw that in my face. And 'you gays" have had marriage for like ten years now. That line keeps getting less and less impactful, Spier."

I walk to the closet without thinking and grab his shoes. I slip them on delicately. Bram loved running, and I loved what it did to his calves. He was always hounding me to get new shoes and join him on his morning runs. My shoes were way too old to do anything remotely good for my body, but let's be honest - I NEVER ran. In that moment it felt amazing to be a part of something he loved. To be inside his shoes. I've never worn these shoes, but it felt so comforting and familiar. I looked at my feet inside his shoes. My pale skin didn't match the blue and green hues as well as his chocolate skin.

Before I knew it I was standing. Then walking. Out the door.

It was really a beautiful morning. Not a person in sight. The clouds looked surreal and the air smelled fresh. I haven't taken the time to really look at my surroundings in quite some time. Then something inside me pushed my legs to go. I turned right and began running through the neighborhood. My legs ached and I couldn't believe I was running. I couldn't believe I was enjoying it. It was great to think of nothing as my feet methodically hit the pavement. I began to exhale three steps and inhale two. Out. Out. Out. In. In. Alternate on an odd number so you don't get side pains. He taught me that. And it was working. My pace quickened as I turned left onto a road I had passed many times but never gone down. Sweat began pouring down my back, onto my forehead, and into my eyes. I didn't care. I felt my legs tighten. I should've stretched. I didn't think about that. Of course I didn't. He's the athletic one. Was.

I continue pushing my body down a street that looks incredibly foreign and familiar. There's no way I'm more than 2 miles from the house, but I have no idea where I am. The street signs share similar tree-themed names so I must be close to something I recognize. I push on. My sides begin to ache and it feels like my body will betray me and I'll fall forward any moment now. Keep going. I look ahead and notice the gas station we often frequented for late night snacks when we'd decided to stop keeping junk food in the house. That never lasted long.

I immediately know where I am. I hang a left and continue my journey. I want to stop so bad, but I can't. I know it's completely insane, but I feel as if I can bring him back. Just for a moment. If I just keep running he'll be there waiting for me. Waiving from our stoop with that subtle, goofy smile. I just need to make it in time. I need to be faster.

I push harder. I don't need to breathe! I just need to see him. Just a glance. I'm going to miss it. I'm not fast enough! I turn the corner and push with everything I have in me. My hair is completely drenched and my shirt is solidly three shades darker than when I began my journey. Dyed with sweat. I'm almost there. Just one more turn to see the front of our house!

I feel so incredibly devastated and foolish at the same time. I stop at the final corner and see the empty porch. What was I thinking? Why the hell would he be there? I can't take my eyes off our house as I gasp for air. Everything hurt. My legs, my knees, my feet, my chest, my neck, my sides, my heart. Before I could even register what was happening I expelled a sound I didn't know was possible for my body to make. It was so guttural and painful. I wailed again and openly sobbed. I fell back onto a lawn that wasn't my own, but I didn't care. This is where I live now. This is where I'll die.

I continue to let my emotions rule my actions. Lack of actions really. I didn't want to do this today. Nothing good can come from this. Will I be able to stop? I look into the sky and feel so ridiculous. It feels so wrong to be this devastated on such a pretty day. I suddenly wished it would rain. That the atmosphere would match my emotional state. I deserve that. Bram deserves that. I want a movie funeral scene where everyone is dressed in black, holding umbrellas to shield them from the angry skies. This storybook weather doesn't seem fitting for how I feel. I want it to pour down on me. If I lay long enough maybe I can become one with the grass. Grass doesn't have to deal with things like death and funerals.

I close my eyes and feel the water begin to drip on my face. How long have I been here? Did I will the weather to change? I sit up and see the sprinkler system begin to slowly come to life.

"Simon?" I turn to see Mr. Wells.

"Uh… yeah. Sorry. Mr. Wells, I…"

"No. No need to apologize, Son." He says softly. He's so gentle and grandfatherly. "Today's the day isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." I can't look at him. I lay back onto the grass.

He walks down his meticulously landscaped path and takes a seat on the steps leading to the sidewalk. We sit there in silence for a moment as the water continues to cascade over me. I realize I have never seen him wearing anything other than Khakis. He now has a white undershirt tucked into his khakis and casual, brown, leather shoes. Of course they have the small tassels you would expect any elderly man to own. He smells of musky cologne and for once, I can see peppered facial hair. He is always so put together. I enjoyed seeing him this way. It made him real.

Finally, he runs his aged hands through his thinning hair to return it to it's perpetual comb-over state and speaks.

"When Janet died, I was devastated. She was always so good at handling things, I didn't realize how emotionally unprepared I'd be without her. It was easier to not think about it at first, but eventually it all came pouring out. I kept that from happening for almost a year. Of course there would be moments when the grief would slip out a little here and there, but I didn't fully deal with it. One night, I found myself at a bar. I ordered a drink. Then two. I couldn't stop. I hadn't drank in over 30 years. I knew that night what I was doing. I knew what the plan was. Drink until I can't feel anymore, then make it all go away. I wanted to…"

He couldn't finish it. I don't think I could have heard him say it. I was sitting upright completely enraptured by his story.

"Mr. Wells, I…"

"At first I was so disappointed in myself. I was ashamed of what she'd think of me. I was a terrible alcoholic, Simon. It controlled me. It almost ruined our marriage, and it almost took away any potential of a relationship with my son. I honestly didn't care he was gay. I just get really selfish when I drink. I kept worrying what people would think of me. Can you believe that? My son was coming to terms with something that would entirely change his life forever, in a time when it wasn't accepted at all, and all I could think about was how it would be for me. She helped me come to my senses. She saved me back then. She saved me that night too."

I didn't know what to say. He was always so quiet around us. Janet did all the talking. He continued.

"Simon, it isn't fair you boys had such a short amount of time together. Hell, I had Janet for almost 60 years, but it still wasn't enough. Whether he would've been here for 20, 30, or 100 more years, it wouldn't have mattered. I can't begin to understand how you're feeling right now, everyone takes it differently. Just, don't wait too long to fully deal with it. Talk to someone. Keep a journal. Something. It's ok to miss him, but it's not ok to allow missing him to end your life."

We both sat silent for what felt like hours. The sprinklers died to a low hiss and retreated back into the ground. Eventually, Mr. Wells stood reached over and squeezed my shoulder. I had forgotten how great it felt to have compassionate body contact. I barely know this man, but I want to stand so badly and hug him. Deeply. I turned to look at him and opened my mouth. What do you say in a moment like this? My throat was completely non-functioning and a raspy breath escaped my lips. He looked into my eyes and gave a gentle nod.

"You know where to find me, son. Any time. Any day. I mean it."

He turned and began the journey back inside as I realized how disgusting I was. I was covered in sweat, grass, and water. I look at my watch and see it's already 9:28 AM. Shit. I need to get ready. Leah will be here in 30 minutes.

I run inside and take my clothes off. I look into the mirror and examine myself. I really have lost weight. I guess that happens when you don't feel like eating. I was seriously in need of a haircut and a shave, but I barely had the energy to shower. Surely, everyone would understand. It's not like you take photos at a funeral. Do you? I suddenly realize I haven't been to a funeral since elementary school. Some cousin twice removed or something like that. We drove to the stuffy funeral home and waited forever to say hello to some random relative. She was clearly emotionally drained and barely acknowledged us. I remember how empty her eyes were. She would look at you, but never fully make eye contact. You know when you're hearing someone, but you're not listening?

That's what will be expected of me today. I'll have to stand next to a box containing the love of my life and talk to people. People I know and people who are acquaintances. Why did we make that a thing? Who thought it would be a good idea to take the people grieving the most and force them to socialize?

I begrudgingly shower and get dressed. I decided to wear my dark, navy blue suit. Black felt too glim. I walk outside and sit on the steps waiting for Leah. I honestly didn't realize they had pulled up until they gave two quick beeps. I walk to the car as Garrett exits the passenger seat.

"Hey, man." His eyes were red and he hugged me. I forget there are other people who miss him too. I'm not the only person who loved him.

"You don't have to…" I gesture to the front seat.

"No, I insist." He climbs into the back.

We sit in silence. No music. No conversation. I consider turning the radio on or shuffling through my phone for a song, but what do you play? Something happy? Something sad? What if one of our songs come on? I would lose it. As if she knows what I'm thinking, Leah reaches over and grabs my hand. Three soft squeezes. We've done that since middle school. She knew right away how much of an emotional wreck I am, and I knew right away how much she hated emotional talk. We created a system to reassure each other without words. Three soft squeezes, three simple words, You Got This.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry to keep dragging it out...

I think there will be a flashback next before going through the details of the funeral. Any suggestions? Particular memories you would like to see?

Chapter 4

We turn the corner and pull into the parking lot. Abby and Nick are waiting outside for our arrival. It's clear Abby has already been crying. Her eyes are puffy and she clearly went light on the eye makeup today. Smart. Nick has his arm around her shoulders, but his face looks far from comforting. He stares into the distance at nothing in particular. This is very different from his normal, genuine smile. He could be having the worst day ever, and you'd never know.

As we pull into the parking spot marked 'Reserved for Family', I come to the realization that today is real. I'm here. This is happening. Leah and Garrett exit the car and walk to greet Nick and Abby. Leah looks down not realizing I haven't exited the car. 'Are you ready?' she mouths? I shake my head no. I stare through the window contemplating what I do next. I know it's as simple as opening the door and walking up the stairs into this place, but my body isn't responding. I'm not ready for this. Maybe I can just wait it out here.

I pull my phone out and text Leah to go on inside. She struggles with this command, but obeys. I return my phone to my jacket pocket and lean forward to place my elbows on my knees. I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands and wait. Something will come, right? Some inspiring thought or moment of strength will push me to exit this vehicle.

 _Click._

The door opens and I turn to see a man in a black suit with peppered hair sit in the driver's seat. My father.

"Hey, kiddo." He says softly, barely louder than a whisper. He reaches over and grabs my shoulder. I immediately lose it. I didn't want to do this yet! There are so many things that I want to say or scream right now, but I can't muster a sound. He's just sitting there, and I am so grateful he's not talking. I'm so thankful he's not trying to make this better. He's doing exactly what I need him to do.

My breathing slowly returns to normal and I reach into the glovebox and choose a napkin from Leah's collection. I dry my eyes and blow my nose. I'm tempted to flip down the visor and look at my face, but ultimately I don't care. I look to him and nod. He clearly understands. He exits the car and walks to my door and opens it. I barely remember standing and before I know it I'm ascending the stairs to the heavy oak doors of the funeral home. My father is directly beside me, guiding me with his hand. Every few seconds he squeezes, reassuring me that he's there. It's as if he knows exactly when I need it. Each moment I consider leaving, turning around, or collapsing to the floor - squeeze. Just before we enter, he turns me to him and speaks.

"You have so many people here for you today, Simon. I know it seems easier to do this alone, but I promise it isn't. If you need to step away, if you need to have a moment to yourself, there's a room for that. But, we're going to bug the hell out of you today. We're going to ask if you're OK or if you need anything at least a thousand times." I laugh. He continues. "Listen, your mom is on the other side of this door. I've pleaded with her to just be mom today. I hate to ask anything of you, but can you indulge her for a few moments?"

I smile and nod. I'm being too hard on her. She's far from selfish and all she wants to do is make me feel better. I know that. It's only frustrating because she's always so right, but it's hard to see that until you're at the other end.

Dad pushes open the door and ushers me inside. Have you ever entered a room and suddenly knew everyone was talking about you? My mother immediately rushes over and throws her arms around me. She isn't crying, but her breath flows unsteady, like waves hitting the side of a canoe on a windy day. She pulls away and holds my face in her hands. With a kiss to my forehead and the saddest smile I've ever seen, she pulls away. I'm so proud of her and guilty that I know she knows this is what I want from her right now.

I take a moment to look around the room and notice the smell of flowers. I can't see him yet, but I know he's there just around the corner. Probably surrounded by wreaths, flowers, plants, and his parents. The table holds a stack of freshly printed programs. The cover displays his photo, his dates, and a line that reads: "Beloved husband, son, brother, and friend." I momentarily hate it. How can you sum up anyone's life like that? But, I understand. It's only so big. Next to the programs is a beautiful guest book with an ink-pen sitting in a stand. There are four entries: Nick, Abby, Leah, and Garrett. I almost forget they are here. I turn and find Leah and Abby sitting in two overstuffed armchairs covered with floral print. I need them right now.

"You think there's some catalog all funeral homes have to order this furniture from?" I joke. They smile and force a laugh.  
"You don't like it? I guess I'll have to get you something else for Christmas." Leah says.

We stand in silence.

"Is his family still…" I look to the door where I know he is even though I haven't gone inside yet.  
"Yeah. I think so." Nick answers.  
"Have you all already…" I ask.  
"No. We were waiting for you. And we wanted to give them time alone." Abby answers.  
"Yeah. No. That makes sense."

We stand in silence.

"Do you need anything?" Leah asks.  
"I'm good."  
She nods, but I know it will make them feel better if they can get me something.  
"Actually, I'd kill for some iced coffee." I regret saying kill. I know it's stupid and no one else event batted an eye, but I still hate that I said that.  
"Sure! Abby, come with?" Leah grabs her hand and leaves.

I sit down in the chair and motion for Nick to take the other. I turn to Garrett.

"Hey, thank you for always being such a good friend to him. I feel like I've been pretty selfish and not really thinking about all the other people he loved."  
Garrett clenches his jaws and answers. "Of course. And you're not being selfish at all. No one thinks that. I loved him too. And, boy did he love you. I remember when he first told me about you. He…"  
"I really want to hear this." I interrupt. "Someday. I just don't think I can right now."  
"Shit. Duh. I'm sorry."  
"No! Don't apologize. I just fully expect to keep seeing you around. A lot. You've really become one of my best friends too. I hope you know that."  
"Thanks, man."  
"Do you mind if I have a sec with Nick?"  
"Not at all!" He says as he walks away.

Nick and I sit in silence for a few minutes. He doesn't look at me. He keeps staring straight ahead into the table holding the programs and guestbook. We've never been overly affectionate. We've been best friends since middle school, and even though we don't say it often, we both know we love one another.

"How are you doing?" I ask him.  
"Simon, I'm the last person you need to worry about today." He says with a smile.  
"No. Nick, I'm not the only one who's hurting. How are you doing?"  
His cheeks tighten and he rubs his right palm with his left thumb.  
"I'm so sorry I haven't called you." He says. "I've been the worst friend, haven't I?"  
"Nick, no."  
"Yes. Yes I have. You know I loved him. He's been a part of my life for so long, and I cared about him even more when the two of you became, well you. I know I've texted you every day, but I should've called."  
"Seriously, it's ok."  
"No it's not. I haven't called you because I haven't been able to talk about it to anyone. Much less you. When I even start thinking about it, I feel like I can't breathe. Simon, I hate that he's not here anymore, I do, but I think I hate it more that he's not here for you."  
I can't speak.  
"I remember the person you were before him, and it wasn't great. You were so unhappy and Leah and I couldn't fix you. That really messed me up. A guy should be able to make his best friend better. I know it's selfish but all I keep thinking about is how I'm never going to be able to make this better for you. And I know it's so fucking cliche, but I would take his place in a heartbeat." He stops to prevent a total loss of composure. He's rapidly blinking his eyes and clenching then unclenching his jaws.  
"Just know that I love you, Simon. I know we don't say that much, but you're my best friend and I am here for you. And that's the last time today that it isn't all about you." He finishes with a smile and we stand to hug. Normally, our hugs are quick and casual with the straight man three pat rule. This hug is different. This hug is better categorized as an embrace.

We pull apart as Leah and Abby return with my coffee. I begin sipping the drink I didn't really want, but am now very thankful for.

"Do you remember when we first started dating how Bram wouldn't admit he hated coffee." I don't know why I shared that.  
Abby giggles and adds, "Yeah. He would add so much cream and sugar. It looked disgusting!"  
We all laugh as Garrett chimes in, "He would've drank toilet water to impress you all."  
We all smile.  
"He's lactose intolerant too. That cream made him miserable until he finally admitted it."  
We're laughing now. This feels good.

The smiles fall away as we notice his parents walk from behind the partition. His parents move quickly into a room labelled "Private". I feel like a dick for not saying hello yet. Surely they understand though. I'm just not ready to speak with them yet.

A middle-aged man in a black suit hesitantly approaches me.

"Simon?"  
"Yes?"  
"Hi, I'm Nathan. I will be coordinating everything today so you can spend time with your loved ones."  
"Hi." I respond as we shake hands.  
"I wanted to give you a chance to go inside before we open to the public."  
He's so gentle with his words. I wonder why someone would want to work in this business, constantly surrounded by sadness.  
"Thank you. I'll be right in."  
"Take your time. We operate on your schedule today." He smiles and walks away.

I turn to look at the group. Everyone is looking down. I want to ask one of them to go with me, but I know I need to do this alone.  
"Nick?" I say, barely audible.  
"Yeah?" He looks so worried.  
"Can you come and get me in 10 minutes?"  
"Sure. Are you sure you don't need more time?"  
"No." I say as I walk away.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

(Before) 

I wake as the sun fully enters our room. God, I love Saturdays. I don't sleep in as long as I used to, but for an adult 10 is pretty late I guess. Bram is an early riser and always gives me grief for sleeping in. He's up at 7am every day to read, run, or work on something. Mostly to make me feel like I'm still a teenager and a complete waste of space. Except today. 

"You're still here?" I question as I begin to roll my body over his.

"I am." He grunts as I lay directly on top of him now. My back to his front.

"No run today?" I continue to wriggle as I stretch to fully wake my body.

"Nah. Don't feel like it."

"If you start to lose that body, you know I'm going to have to leave you, right?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Were you watching me, creeper?"

"No." He smiles mischievously.

"Was I the perfect sleeping beauty, prince charming, angel you were looking for?"

"Not quite." He pulls me off of him and manages to position himself on top of me in an instant. 

He straddles me and holds my hands aside. Usually, it doesn't take long for our morning wrestles to move directly into morning sex, but this feels too sensual to be labeled that cheaply. He stares at every inch of me as if he's looking at me for the first time. There's no way my hair is remotely coiffed and I know without a doubt my breath is horrendous, but he looks completely in awe of my body. I could use some time at the gym, and I'm not in love with my nose, but when he looks at me like this I feel more than adequate. Mainly because I know if someone as beautiful, kind, and amazing as him can be so in love with me, then I must be doing something right. 

I pull up to kiss him, but he maintains his hold and shakes his head no. I love when he's playful like this. It always blows me away how passionate he can be. I can't imagine doing the same thing without feeling like a complete fool. He begins kissing me softly starting at my forehead making his way to my clavicle. 

"We should do something tonight." He mumbles as he continues down to my chest.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Something special." Kiss. "Just the two of us."

"I'll clear my schedule." I whisper.

"Good. After dinner." Kiss. "We can." Kiss. "Finish...this." He hops off the bed, grabs his phone, and exits the room.

"UGH. I hate you!" I playfully exclaim as I reposition my boxers. 

I watch his body walk down the hall to our kitchen and notice that he looks thinner. I must be imagining it. He goes to the gym all the time and eats better than anyone I know. He's always been motivated to eat clean, but I guess I've been noticing his sudden interest in nutrition more lately. "Gotta work on gaining muscle!" he'd say as he chugged a protein shake on his way out the door. 

I pull a shirt from the unfolded pile in the floor, give a sniff for good measure, and pull it over my head. As I walk into the living room I can hear him on the phone. 

"Yeah?...So what does this mean?... What are our options?...No, I understand... Thank you for calling. I really appreciate it." 

Silence. 

I enter the kitchen and see him standing with both arms on the counter supporting his weight. He's staring down at the hard, white surface at his phone's black screen. I can't see his face, but I can tell from his rigid posture that he didn't receive good news. He also does this strange thing with his thumbs when he's annoyed, thinking, or hurt. He'll press them onto a hard surface over and over as if he's continuously reaffirming the stability. 

"Babe, you OK?" I ask hesitantly, brows furrowed.

He turns quickly, breathing as if he hasn't done so for thirty seconds and half-heartedly smiles.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I… uh… just got some bad news on a contract that I was sure would go through. No worries. Where should we go tonight? Think big!" He kisses me as he passes.

"We could check out that new restaurant across from my office."

"No. Bigger! Fancy. I mean no prices on the menu fancy. I want a holy shit, what the hell are we doing here, they're judging our car at the valet fancy."

"Wow. OK. Are we celebrating something?"

"Life? Us? I just want a really special night with you." He says this softly as he takes his shirt off and throws it to the floor. He's sheepishly smiling at me, and maybe I'm imagining it, but his eyes are extremely glossy. Maybe even tearful?

I blush. "OK. I'll see what I can find. You shower and I'll google!" 

And by google, I mean call Leah. She's such a food-snob. I honestly don't recall the last time I've gotten food with her from a chain. She does have a few exceptions that she'll refuse to talk about when brought up to prove her hypocrisy (Waffle House, Starbucks, and Coldstone come to mind), but she's all about supporting local business. 

"Hello, stranger!" She answers.

"I called you like two days ago." I respond.

"Well, excuse me for wanting to talk to my best friend every day."

"You're excused. So, I need your help."

"Were you unsafe? Do you need a ride to get Plan B again? I'll hold your hand during, but we really should talk about safe sex and how to avoid this in the future."

"Har. Har. Har. You should be a comedian."

"I'm too pretty to be that funny."

"Anywayyyyy, I need a restaurant suggestion. Bram wants a special date night, and he's requested something super fancy."

"Ooooh. OK. Well, it may be hard to find something "super fancy" that isn't already booked on a Saturday night." I can hear the air quotes over the phone.

"I always knew you were dead-weight."

"Ouch. OK. Have you heard of that place downtown across from the theater. I think they find a way to use champagne in every dish. Actually, I'm pretty sure Garrett's company did their remodel. He may know someone who can get you a reservation."

"Super pretentious?"

"The most. Like, find your monocle and take out a second mortgage fancy."

"You're redeeming yourself, Leah!"

"Let me see if I can get you a reservation before you reestablish our friendship."

"Perfect. Don't let me down! You're on thin ice."

"Yeah, yeah." 

She hangs up and I make my way to the bathroom to become a presentable adult for the day. As I enter the bedroom I realize Bram is still showering. When showering alone, he's usually in and out in freakishly quick time. I stand listening for a minute. For what, I'm not sure. A sign that he's ok, if he's having "solo time", or anything. All I can hear is the water hitting the tile and intermittent sniffles. Is he crying? 

I peek into the walk-in shower and see him standing with his face to the shower-head. Of course, it's not easy to tell if someone is crying while water continually cascades down their face, but I know. I immediately feel two feet smaller and my stomach turns. I have no idea what is hurting him, but I'm a sympathy cryer when it comes to him, my parents, sisters, or Leah. 

"Babe?" My voice barely audible. My vocal cords are revolting. 

He turns quickly away so I can no longer see his face. I feel as if someone has dropped a marble into my stomach that somehow weighs 400 pounds and has now pulled it lower into my abdomen. I don't know if I'm more angry that he turned away or hurt that whatever is going on right now is making him feel this miserable. 

"Bram, what...what is going on?" I demand. I hate to be this forward, but I've never been in this position. I'm usually the emotional mess hiding and deflecting his comforting advances. 

Nothing. 

I quickly enter the shower and bearhug him from behind. He instantly loses control and begins to sob as we crumple to the floor. He spins around and buries his head into my chest. I feel like a piano whose keys are being hammered at the hands of a toddler. What is happening right now? I can't even process my emotions enough to shed a tear, much less say a word. I sit and hold my husband as he weeps over something I know nothing about. I selfishly wonder what could be so important to turn him into a blubbering mess, but not important enough to share with me. 

Slowly, he regains composure and I lift his face to meet mine. 

"I don't know what's wrong, but I want to help. You have to tell me what's going on." I plead.

He opens his mouth and his eyes dart around as if he's looking for the answer in this shower.

"Bram. I love you. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. I promise." I have no idea if I can keep that promise or where my strength is coming from. 

At this moment, I realize I'm wearing socks, boxers, and a t-shirt that are sufficiently soaked. We sit in silence as I reach up and turn off the water. He still hasn't spoken, but he holds eye contact as if he's reading the features of my face to instruct him what to say. This moment is disturbingly surreal and oddly beautiful. I can tell he's searching for the strength to speak, and he's somehow finding that strength in me. I have a fleeting moment of guilt for hating that he turned from me when I first discovered him in this shower. My mind quickly transitions from guilt to disgust as I flip through the horrendous scenarios of what might be causing this emotional derailment from the strongest person I know. This is obviously something worse than whatever I can imagine. 

"I've been…" he mumbles as he break eye contact.

"Go ahead." I maintain my hold on his face, and pull his gaze back to mine. He looks so defeated.

"There's been something going on that I haven't told you about."

"Ok?" I feel the marble in my stomach reach new depths.

"I don't know why I haven't talked to you about it." He begins to cry.

"Hey, hey. It's ok. Whatever it is. You can tell me. I trust that you had your reasons."

"Simon, I'm sick."

"Like...bad sick?" I feel so stupid for asking that. Of course it's bad.

"I have intestinal cancer." 

My head suddenly feels like a thin balloon filled with smoke. It takes everything in me to remain strong. All I want to do is cry and scream and puke. Anything to eject negative emotion or energy from my body. I feel as if I'm filled with black, tar-like venom. But he needs me right now, and that's more important than what I'm feeling in this moment. He needs a strong, encouraging partner to offer words of wisdom and a comforting monologue. 

"Oh, shit." I say, immediately disappointed with myself. Way to go, Simon. "What are our options? How long have you been.." I don't even know what I want to ask or should be asking right now.

"Well, it's not good. I've been talking with an oncologist for a couple weeks now. I have another appointment on Monday and I want you to go with me."

"Of course. B, we'll figure this out. We'll fight this. We have to." 

I pull him again into me. We sit for twenty minutes holding each other, one naked and the other in wet clothes. We must look ridiculous, but I don't care. I suddenly realize that I have to take every possible opportunity to hold him. I don't know how much longer he'll be able to hold me back.


End file.
